


The Parallel Programme

by Mallorn



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hints of M/M but with focus on M/F, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:07:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28435137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mallorn/pseuds/Mallorn
Summary: When the Empire introduces a breeding programme to ensure a future supply of troopers and improve morale, Krennic doesn’t take long to devise a programme of his own, entirely focused on the second part. You are its first recruit.
Relationships: Orson Krennic/Reader, Orson Krennic/Wilhuff Tarkin/Reader, Wilhuff Tarkin/Reader
Comments: 11
Kudos: 30





	The Parallel Programme

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back! If you've been waiting for some hot Krennic/Reader/Tarkin, I hope this will entertain you. 
> 
> Proof-read by the ever patient and professional Cassandra1. Thank you <3

When news began to spread about a breeding programme, you weren’t that concerned. Who wanted to give up their career for months for the questionable privilege of serving as a vessel for the next generation of troopers? Besides, it wasn’t like you’d be required to participate, with your rank and age you’d be above that. It shouldn’t matter that nobody winked at you, suggestively mentioning that you should volunteer for their sake. 

The jealousy came later. With the gossip, the giggling, the discussion of various men and their preferences. Things you knew nothing about, having chosen not to fraternise, not to mix with the simple-minded, having – not been invited.

Don’t be absurd! You stared with annoyance at your schedule, devoid of anything but work appointments. The men that made you hot at night with only your thoughts and your fingers for company weren’t the kind to issue invitations. Director Krennic attracted attention effortlessly and it was hard to even look at him without imagining him in the throes with a young, pretty thing. As for Governor Tarkin, even the thought was laughable. That man needed nothing and no one.

The summons to the Grand Moff’s office came as a shock. Your work at the DS-1 command centre often meant that you’d share a space with him for a small portion of the day, but you’d only see him from afar. There hadn’t been any close interaction, and no reason for it. But now, this? And at the end of your shift, when you’d been looking forward to curling up in your quarters with some music and a little light reading. Not that looking at him wasn’t always a guilty pleasure, but being under his scrutiny? You winced.

The door glided aside as soon as you approached, but the office was empty. You checked your datapad again – it was the correct time, and your being able to enter meant that you were expected.

A cough behind you made you turn around.

Ah. So Director Krennic was also summoned. Maybe this was just another staff meeting then.

You glanced at him. He seemed to be waiting, too, but rather than staying put at a respectful distance from the desk, he strolled around the office, peering into cupboards and drawers on his way. The desk drawers turned out to be locked. He cursed and banged his fist on the desk, loudly enough to make you jump. Then he turned towards you, eyes narrow, suspicious. You swallowed. Slowly, the corners of his mouth lifted into a grin. That was all it took to make your cheeks heat.

“Do you know why we are here?”

“No, Director. I’m sorry,” you added.

“I see.” His grin was still dashing but not entirely pleasant. “The old bastard should be here soon.” He took a step closer; then, seemingly distracted by something, he picked up something from the nearest shelf. It was a model of the station, possibly an early sketch. Rather than having one super laser, its surface was scarred by what looked like a multitude of smaller dishes, accompanied by spikes that seemed to protrude from almost half of it. Krennic’s hands could have covered the sphere entirely, but instead of hiding it, he turned it in his hands.

“I expect you are familiar with the breeding programme?”

You nodded.

“That is, of course, a brilliant system,” he continued, with another loving stroke over the model’s surface, “although, regrettably, not of my design.” He put the model back, leaving it at an angle that made it stand out from the other items on that shelf. It seemed to particularly threaten a swarm of miniature TIEs.

“As we all know, it was introduced primarily to supply our growing army with genetically sound recruits conceived in the traditional fashion. It has the additional advantage of providing regular social and tactile stimuli for the crew while removing the needless, stressful element of dating.” He touched a spike and recoiled back from it in a manner that sent his cape fluttering breathtakingly. You suppressed a smile. “All I’ve done,” he said as he lifted his head, “is to refine it, no small feat in itself.”

“I understand.”

“Do you, now?” He pouted. “Just wait until you hear the details.”

You glanced towards the door. Now where was Tarkin? You’d rather go on with the meeting than listen to what would probably be a very long tale. Not that you minded Krennic’s voice, or his presence. Being this close to him made you tingle in a very unprofessional way and you could only take it for so long before you’d blush or do something else to convince him you were an idiot.

“The parallel programme,” he continued, enunciating each word, “has been designed with the higher officers in mind, for whom procreation is not necessarily a priority, but who need a healthy energy outlet that also eases the mind.”

Some had jokingly accused the breeding programme of being little more than a brothel. This one sounded ten times worse and should have made you furious. Instead, you were intrigued. The chance that you would ever be considered for easing Krennic’s mind was slim, but the idea was as enticing as his pronunciation. He must never know how adorable you found his lisp.

“Now, before I say more,” he added in a serious tone, “you need to assume the proper position. The old man will be here soon.”

You stood at attention, which was customary enough in the presence of the leadership, though rarely necessary in day-to-day work. Had you displeased the Grand Moff, then, earned a reprimand that was to be delivered in the Director’s presence to add to the shame?

Krennic stood in front of you, stroking his chin as he eyed you. “Good,” he eventually declared and stepped to your side. “Now just hold your arms like this.” He lifted your hands behind your back and instructed you to clutch your elbows. “Keep them in place,” he said in a sinister voice, his lips grazing your ear, making the hairs on your neck stand as his hands closed around your biceps. “Tarkin doesn’t care for being touched.”

You were on the verge of saying that you had no intention of touching him at all, and this was rather much even if he was against handshakes. But something in Krennic’s demeanour made you quiet. The entire atmosphere of the office was suddenly ominous. He breathed slowly against your neck, each small puff of air going straight to your core.

Then Tarkin came into your view.

He ignored both of you, totally indifferent to the spike in your libido, to your eyes feasting on him, taking in every inch of him, lingering on his fingers, his mouth, his nose. Half turned away, his cheekbones jutted in a particularly striking manner. His hair, steel-grey, was perfectly in place, even the strands at his forehead that looked like they’d easily escape their confinement at the lightest touch. You knew it would be the last thing you’d do if you tried to, but that thought did little to still the itch in your fingers.

There was a rasping sound, a flicker of light and then, the slightest whiff of tobacco. It was true then; the Grand Moff allowed himself a few eccentricities. Nobody else would dare use an open flame here. Already narrow cheeks sank further as he took a drag, eyes half shut, mouth decadently wrapped around the glowing stick. He was leaning against the desk, more relaxed than ever. The image was strange, but the pose suited him. He appeared almost approachable.

“What are you staring at?” His voice hit you like a whip. You snapped to attention.

“Nothing, sir.”

“Liars do not interest me.” He took another drag, slowly letting out the smoke as he studied you. “I am used to this reaction; however, I do occasionally indulge.”

You stared.

“Or would you deny me a few simple pleasures?” he said slowly, lifting an eyebrow.

“Of course not, sir.”

Krennic’s breathing was heavy in your ear, and his hands rubbed your upper arms as he spoke.

“Just think about the benefits of my programme,” he rasped. “Rather than being visited each week by a random trooper with high libido and low self-restraint, who will no doubt be lacking in skill and leave you unfulfilled beyond the bare goal of the programme, you would offer a moment’s release to a select few, the elite.”

Your eyes darted to Tarkin again and you licked your lip nervously.

“Why me?”

You snapped your mouth shut as Tarkin approached. Up close, the smell of tobacco was heavy in the air. He took another drag as he stared at you. The smoke got in your eyes and you blinked.

“Participation is offered to a select few,” he said in a succinct voice, “and it is, naturally, voluntary. If you accept, you will support the performance of the higher echelons, your efforts will bear a more immediate significance than that of a common breeder.”

“Whom would I entertain?”

It was Krennic who responded.

“This is an elite programme, limited to a few illustrious members of the leadership. Myself, naturally, the Grand Moff, officers above the rank of admiral. The occasional visiting dignitary. The Emperor, should he deign to grace us with his presence.”

“Lord Vader?”

“Should he choose to. We have been blessed with his absence for quite some time.”

You tried not to see Tarkin’s disdain and lowered your eyes. “It’s still quite a few… gentlemen.”

“Would you prefer to be visited by a new man every night?” Tarkin’s retort was blunt.

“Individuality isn’t encouraged among troopers,” Krennic continued, “but I am told they look different underneath their armour. Some wouldn’t even take their helmet off while they had you – now, that might make you feel at ease, of course, you could pretend that they are all the same. Just one, faceless man, coming to ravish your body night after night and you would never know who he is…”

“Instead,” Krennic cooed, “I offer you an opportunity to share a moment of pleasure with our finest. A glass of wine, an expensive dinner, a little light conversation, and then he’ll take you to bed. Not in some cramped, dirty quarters, but a refined environment, where you will offer a moment of relaxation from the responsibility of leading millions towards a brighter future.”

“Just think about it… think of the Grand Moff here, for example. All week he must preside over meetings, mete out punishment to rebellious systems –”

“Put up with infuriating co-commanders,” came a tired voice.

“Indeed, keep up with brilliant minds on a number of topics, all tasks that leave him mentally exhausted, drained of all but the will to persist in his endless fight for the good of us all. Would you not come to his aid? Is it not a noble task to bring a little peace of mind to such a man, to let him take his pleasure?”

Your head lolled back against Krennic’s shoulder, aching for support. You were feeling faint and breathless, but in a thrilling way. Your insides screamed ‘yes’, but you were hesitant to say it aloud.

“Let’s not forget how good he can make you feel. You want that, don’t you?” Krennic’s sinuous tongue delivered the final blow to your inhibitions.

“Yes! What – what do I need to do?”

“Seal it with a kiss. Isn’t that what we do, Wilhuff?” 

Still holding the cigarette, Tarkin lifted his hand to your face. He let his knuckles slowly stroke along your cheek, down your throat. He leaned in, his lips dry, demanding at first but then exploring when you didn’t shy back but parted your lips. You writhed against Krennic, struggling to pull free, the urge strong to clutch Tarkin’s shoulders, to cling to him, touch him with more than just this fraction of skin.


End file.
